


Ash in the Wind

by CPT_Rogers



Category: Sons of Anarchy, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Charming - Freeform, Hawkeye - Freeform, M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), The Blip, Tig - Freeform, chibs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:16:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CPT_Rogers/pseuds/CPT_Rogers
Summary: It's been a year since the Snap ended a Gilded Age for SAMCRO. Filip 'Chibs' Telford has been at the wheel through it all, and with half his club suddenly and inexplicably ash in the wind, and trouble rising in an unstable San Wa region, leadership is baring its full weight upon him. As the Sons struggle to keep the peace with the Niners and the Mayans after a string of attacks on their gun-running network, a stranger has arrived at Scoops. Hoping it's just another meeting, Chibs finds himself in the path of a dangerous man's familiar revenge quest.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Ash in the Wind

The Sons had been on a good streak for a good couple of years. Chibs always outwardly attributed it to a little bit of good old Scottish grit and wit, but inwardly he was aware it was largely some God-given luck and the legacy his Presidential predecessor had left. Jax Teller had perished on 580 about six years ago now, and when the body was finally ID’d, Chibs’ first worry was Indian Hills finding out that SAMCRO had not in fact sent their President to meet Mr. Mayhem but rather it was a hapless Papa’s Goods truck driver that had done the deed. But the peace in Oakland between the Niners and the Mayans, thanks to the Irish guns flooding into the Bay Area, and the Aryan Brotherhood agreeing to cooperate with colour, putting an end to nearly five years of intensifying violence was enough for Indian Hills to find in them some forgiveness; at least Jax was dead. Precedent could still be woven from his death.

It was May 4th, 2018 that that streak all ended. There was no rhyme or reason, no explanation to be had, no retaliation that could be conceived of. Chibs made his ride to Scoops just like any other morning. There was no lighter volume in traffic to be noticed, as anyone who didn’t have business in Charming just slipped by on I5 on their way to Lodi or Oakland or Stockton. The only thing of note that happened that morning was at a stoplight when a woman ran up to his bike, in hysterics, desperate to know if anyone had seen her son. 

“Lady, please step back,” Chibs had commanded like he was back on patrols in Ireland. “I haven’t seen your son. I need you to calm down. Now.”

She wasn’t phased by his abrasive accent and consonance, like most people were when he got stern; her panic seemed perennial. 

“Please! I can’t find him! I think someone took him! Where is he!” she continued to scream.

Chibs noticed other drivers were starting to stare as she bore into him, accusing the Sons of being involved in her son’s alleged kidnapping. There was no calming this woman, Chibs concluded, she was beyond reason. So he gunned his engine and continued on his commute, leaving her screaming in the tide of his exhaust.

The strip Scoops and Sweets was on was quieter that morning too, but it was before nine, so Chibs had attributed it to business not being open yet. He remembered the stray car, a late model Hyundai Elantra, idling in the road just up the block. His first thought was to prepare for crisis. He ran into Scoops ready to lock the place down but their clubhouse was empty save for Tig upstairs sitting forlornly at the table. He was too far somewhere else to fully register Chibs’ booming concern of a potential carbomb out front. But Chibs settled when Tig said the car had been sitting like that since before he got in about forty-five minutes earlier. And then Tig told him Venus was gone.

“Not dead, not—you know—she didn’t leave me,” Tig said, visibly still living in that moment. “She’s just gone. Like—like she was never even here.” He spoke softly, working to live with the fact he will never understand how he was suddenly surrounded in their bed by the ashy flakes of what was once his love.

Tomorrow was May 4th, 2019. It was another quiet morning on the road as Chibs made his way to Scoops. Same as the last roughly 365 mornings. The one thing that the California motorcycle gangs – the Mayans, the Sons, any of them – could unanimously agree on as one of the most devastating losses of the dusting was the joy of riding. The road was the single refreshing moment in a day. It was how SAMCRO got through its years just before the end of the Teller-Morrow dynasty. Between the gun battles, the cartel, the San wa sheriffs, the AB pushing in, the hour or so on the road between meetings and jobs was enough to help clear one’s mind and get right with the day before the next challenge came about. But now the road was its own challenge. Especially out in the rural counties where the Sheriff Departments had largely collapsed, gutted like the Sons, like the Niners. Chibs wasn’t far from town, and his route kept him off the I5, but there was no peace to be had. Even on the backroads, there were the rusting corpses of bikes and vans that had been lost to raids in just the passed six months, along with the bodies of the perished never recovered.

Chibs pulled in at 7:30, sailed across the neglected store floor, upstairs to his seat at the table as his Presidential flare demanded. He took a few pulls on a cigarette in the time it took Tig, Happy and T.O. to show up. Their faces and gazes were as empty as yesterday, and as empty as they will likely be tomorrow. The mornings had felt harder and colder. The jolt awake to grab an early start on the day’s troubles and dealings before someone else did had simply dissolved into the air like the end of a cloud of smoke. The game felt on pause, or maybe over. 

Tig, Happy and T.O. sat patiently as Chibs took a final drag and leisurely butted his smoke in the ash tray.  
“Morning, boys,” he grunted.

“Morning, buddy,” Tig said, Happy and T.O. nodding along.

“We got a bit of a problem with the Niners, boss,” Happy said. “Tyler called this morning. Oso’s really up his ass.”

Chibs nodded. They could all see his rigidity tighten. 

“What happened?” Chibs demanded. 

“Stockton got hit,” Happy said. “Whole port’s a fucking mess. Brown’s pissed and blames Black, but Tyler swears Niners had nothing to do with it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Chibs sighed massaging his forehead. He fished out another cigarette and lit up. “This is bad, boys. Is this black?”

“I really don’t think so,” Tig said.

“Well then who else has been hassling our esteemed amigos then,” Chibs grumbled. “Because they’ve been circling the wagons on guns since…” Chibs’ head ached at the thought, “…well, for the last year. And the deal has been the Niners get priority on guns.”

The table was stumped in silence.

“Well then why would they wait six months to start makin’ trouble?” Tig said. “I—I don’t know. Doesn’t make sense. They want the guns, why spend all this time blowing them up.”

“Tig’s right,” T.O. resigned. “There were three times shit wasn’t torched and nothing was taken.”

“Well, how we gonna explain this to Oso,” Happy said.

“We’ll explain it to Oso,” Tig said. “You and Happy should stay here. It’s not safe.”

“No, no, we’re all goin’,” Chibs stated. “President has to be there to show we give a shit.”

“I know, but Brown’s been getting more hostile to outsiders. Alvarez isn’t around anymore to imbue us with his good graces. Oso’s a totally different guy.”

“Gotta protect the club first, boss,” Happy said.

Chibs spewed a stream of smoke to conceal a derisive chuckle. “There’s barely a fucking club left to protect. And hopefully Oso will have the good sense to welcome a diplomatic mission.”

The nods slowly but surely came. 

“Alright.” Chibs nodded to Happy. “Make the calls. Let’s get this done.” 

Tyler had promised to meet SAMCRO halfway with a convoy of his men to assure safe passage to Stockton, but the hour to Antioch was as long as the road was silent. The joy of riding was further sapped away by all the cars never claimed, powerlines toppled in storms never cleaned up, dead trees never removed, the road never maintained. You couldn’t bomb down 160 or 4 at 100 mph anymore because one wrong bump could kill you, and that’s all the road was now. Wrong bumps. 

The Sons posted up on 4 just outside of Bridgehead on the east side of Antioch. It was an artery through the tangled vines of suburbia. Not far out from the freeway were echoes of life once there in the form of hollow picket fence homes. The men kept their heads on a swivel as they took the time to enjoy a smoke on chat. Chibs preferred to use this time to unwind and limber up over beating dead horses talking shop.

Tyler’s men arrived about twenty minutes later, joining the bikes on the shoulder. The lead truck emptied out, save for the driver, and Chibs and Tyler met to shake hands. 

“Tyler,” Chibs said, “how ya doin’, lad?”

Tyler shrugged, tired of having to come up with an answer for questions like these. “I’m alive.”

Chibs nodded understanding. “Look, before we charge into the lions’ den we need to get our facts straight.”

“Niners ain’t done shit, man,” Tyler frankly said.

“It’s not lookin’ good, man,” Tig said. “You guys got motive with this guns beef.”

“Yeah, but this ain’t us,” Tyler retorted, bristling up. “The deal your old boss set up was Brown deals to us first. But now they’re keeping the guns to themselves and their friends. But look, if it was us coming after them for guns we wouldn’t be blowin’ shit up.” Tyler read the faces of the men he needed to help him. They wanted to believe. “Look, I—I’m gonna be honest with you. We don’t have the firepower to do this shit even if we wanted to. And to hit them this much? Shit.” Tyler shook his head at the impossibility. “Even when we were good with Marks we couldn’t have pulled something like this off.”

Chibs and Tig exchanged a confirming glance. 

“Well, then who’s behind this?” Chibs said.

“Wish I knew, man,” Tyler said. “We’ve been looking. But whoever it is, they’re quick and clean.”

“Sounds like a pro job,” Tig said.

“Yeah, probably an outside player too,” Tyler said. “Our best guess is maybe triad or cartel.”

Chibs nodded. He had feared such a scenario. “Cartel, maybe, but that triad beef – it’s so old. They would’ve made a move by now, and this isn’t really their AO.”

“Well, that’s where we’re at,” Tyler said.

“Alright.” Chibs waved his finger in the air. “Let’s move!”

Route 4 was a causeway through the shabby banks of Arbor and Brentwood as it wound its way east to Stockton. On a regular day, these truck stop towns weren’t what one might call easy on the eyes, but with so many residents vanished, whatever hadn’t been used for squatting or stashing was peeling and collapsing. In recent months, tent cities had been cropping up in the roadside parking lots or on the shoulders; the other hassle of the trip to Stockton was dodging around increasingly desperate beggars looking for a ride, cash, or sustenance. 

Chibs’ stomach turned as they rode into the port seeing the road before them caked in debris and bodies. Stockton PD was waiting just at the edge of the destruction: two cars, two officers sipping on coffee. They waved as the Sons and the Niners approached. 

The rest hung back as Chibs and Tyler went to speak with the cops.

“Morning, guys,” Officer Chase, a tall, round man greeted them.

“Morning,” Chibs said, running a hand through his hair. “Are our associates waiting for us?”

“Yeah, down on Port D,” Officer Burrell, a shorter man with a thin mustache said.

“Alright,” Chibs said. 

Tyler made a vague gesture beyond them to the carnage. “Got anything on this?”

Chase and Burrell made a passing glance over their shoulders. 

“We’re working on it, man,” Burrell said.

“Great,” Chibs sighed. “Well, if you don’t mind, gentlemen…”

Chibs and Tyler returned to their vehicles as the officers moved their cruisers aside.

The farther they ventured in, unbelievably, the worse the damage got. It went from blown out windows to fully collapsed warehouses; from dead bodies to stray body parts; from debris in the road to craters. There was the charring and scarring clearly left behind by fires, their gun storage now embers and coals. Small flames still licked and crackled from corners of foundations or on anything in the road with flammable potential. Steel frames had warped out overhead like the branches of dead trees.

Oso and the remnants of the Mayans restlessly watched the Sons’ bikes and the Niners’ SUVs roll onto Port D upon the San Joaquin River. The Mayans postured and paced as the rival bikers dismounted and the Oakland gang climbed out of their rolling, extravagant fortresses. 

“Long time no see,” Oso said as he and Chibs shook hands. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

“Aye, aye,” Chibs said lazily.

Tyler hopped out of the truck. He and Oso held an unwavering gaze, each suspicious of the other. Chibs noted himself in the middle, quickly losing patience.

“Alright, enough, c’mon, shake hands, and let’s get down to business, please,” he said. “This is some deep, deep shit.”

Tyler and Oso reluctantly complied with a sliver of the customary eye contact.

“The Niners are in deep shit,” Oso said.

“The Niners didn’t do shit,” Tyler retorted. 

“Alright, alright,” Chibs said, turning to Oso, “look, the Niners didn’t do this, amigo, they don’t have the kinda firepower needed to level a fucking warehouse.”

Oso shifted, dissatisfied. “Well, then who? Black’s been biting at our heels for the last six months. And that’s about how long we’ve been taking hits.”

“’Cause you cut off the gun supply!” Tyler said. “Kept it to you and your friends. That wasn’t the deal. But if we were comin’ for your shit, man, it’s like Chibs said, we wouldn’t blow it up.”

Oso chuckled. “Well, it sounded more like he said you couldn’t.”

Tyler and Oso were right in each other’s faces, daring the other to make the first move.

“Ok, guys, enough!” Chibs hollered, prying some space between them. “I’ve said what I said; Niners didn’t do this. Our real problem is who did? Because it’s someone with a lot of firepower and clearly no interest in your inventory.”

“What do you propose?” Oso said.

Chibs gave a heavy sigh as he surveyed what was left of the operation. “Well, you’ve lost the port. You’d do best to regroup with whoever’s left and start narrowing down a list of enemies. This is someone who wants to hurt you, not rob you.”

Tyler got a glint in his eye as he stared at Oso. “Probably gonna have to figure out how to explain to the Irish you lost a few million dollars of their weapons.”

Oso’s face bubbled. He looked to Chibs and nodded understandingly.

“We good here, boys?” Chibs said, directing more than asking.

Oso and Tyler sized each other up, but opted on a breath to shake hands. Chibs took that as his all-clear to light up.

As the scene eased, Tig came over and guided Chibs to one side. “I heard what you said, man. We should be worried too.”

Chibs blew away a puff of smoke. “I am.”

Chibs waved a finger in the air for his crew to prepare to depart. He shook hands with Tyler and Oso then mounted his bike and the Sons and the Niners began their way out of the port.

The crews took it slow, easing around debris and bodies. Especially at the mouth to Port D, the road was in rough shape. Chibs eyed the bodies as they passed, hoping to get a clue from the carnage what kind of firepower they were up against. But then his eye caught half a rifle lying in the road ahead. Chibs shot up his hand and promptly braked, and so did the rest of the entourage. Chibs swung off his seat and strode over to inspect the anomaly.

“What’s going on, boss?” Tig said as he and Happy came over.

Chibs turned to them as he processed the day, maybe the week that was likely ahead of them. “You ever seen, in all of the meat grinders we’ve been in, a rifle get cut in half?”

Tig and Happy eyed the rifle, an AK, sensing the rhetorical nature of Chibs’ question.

“Check out this guy,” Happy said.

A body laying not far away was free of bullet wounds, but had deep, relatively narrow gashes blood had poured from.

“Okay, check those ones over there, I’m gonna check these over here,” Chibs instructed, already in motion.

Tyler popped his head out of his truck. “Hey! What’s going on?”

Chibs waved him off as he examined two more bodies, all looking like they had met their demise by not the bullet but a blade. He turned to see Tig walking over, shaking his head, as Happy continued to poke at a body.

“They were cut too,” Tig said. “Not shot.”

Chibs’ eyes bulged, like lenses trying to focus. 

“I think they were hit by ninjas, boss!” Happy called over.

“Ninjas—what the fuck is going on?” Tyler barked.

Chibs shook his head, muttering under his breath, waving everyone to get ready to move.

The hand off at Antioch went off without a hitch: the Niners continued on 4 to Oakland and, with a wave, Chibs lead the Sons onto the exit for 160 for the last half-hour to Charming.

The road was as silent heading home as it was coming out that morning. The roads were as rough and as much of a slalom with the handful of abandoned vehicles. 

As they came alongside the Sacramento River, the flatness of the horizon was interrupted by a vehicle a ways out ahead. Definitely moving, definitely headed the same direction. Chibs’ eyes narrowed on the vehicle, looking like a pickup truck. Chibs gestured back to the other three to be aware ahead. 

As the truck ahead had done, they wound their way onto 12 eastbound at Rio Vista. The trucks’ pace was steady; they never seemed to gain any ground on it. Chibs wasn’t eager to be spotted; another vehicle on the road wasn’t alarming in itself, but people just didn’t go anywhere they didn’t have to. Chibs hoped it was just a resident of Charming returning from a morning away.

12 soon crossed the I5, where the truck finally turned. The bikers slowed to make their turn for Thornton Road, just after the 5 interchange. Chibs looked up the ramp after the truck, but it was long gone.

Another ten-fifteen minutes up Thornton and they were back in Charming. Chibs had halted them at the first lights away from Scoops. The traffic signals performed their perennial duty of reds, yellows and greens, despite no one caring for the show. The other men were all quick to figure out what had spooked Chibs. 

Directly across the street from Scoops an unfamiliar pickup truck was parked. It was a black Ford F-150, king cab. Someone with money, Chibs guessed, the money to buy firepower. 

“You think that’s them?” T.O. said.

“We don’t get visitors,” Chibs said, “nor do these shops. ‘Specially not by someone who drives something like that.”

“A new face shows up same day as our guns are blown to shit? Can’t be a coincidence,” Tig said assuredly. 

“What’s the move, boss?” Happy said. 

“C’mon.” Chibs revved his engine into gear, as well as to signal to whomever the owner of the truck was that they were in the land of the Sons now. 

They sailed in and surrounded the truck. The cab was empty.

“So maybe they’re just out shoppin’” Tig said, half sarcasm.

Chibs’ eyes fell on Scoops’ door left ajar. “No, we’ve got visitors.”

“Shit,” T.O. grumbled as he, Happy and Tig quickly dismounted and drew their nines. 

“Oh fuck this,” Chibs said and marched right up to their rightful clubhouse. 

He did a quick visual sweep of the door then barged in, the other three springing to follow the man they were sure had now gone crazy. 

“Oi!” Chibs called. “We know you’re in here, you can skip the theatrics! Let’s get this over with!”

No response.

Chibs chuckled in hopeless humour to his crew. “This best not mean last one out didn’t close the door—"

The glass on the door exploded into shards like raindrops. There was a stifled gasp and Happy collapsed to the floor. It was all over by the time the men saw their friend go down, bleeding out, an arrow sticking upright out of his back.

“Shit!” someone yelled.

In another instant, and another squelch of flesh, T.O. went down. Chibs and Tig dove behind the counter, weapons hot. 

They fought to quiet their burning grief and their shaky breaths.

Tig staggered his eyes up over the counter. A man approached from across the street. He was hooded and dressed in black, looked like sectioned body armour but costumed and customized. He had a bow in his hand, a quiver slung over his back, and a blade sheathed to his side. He marched in even steps: not in a rush, but not fearful.

Tig sprang up to fire. That was all the time needed for the man to load an arrow and fire. Tig’s gun banged. His bullet struck the ceiling as an arrow through his chest whisked him to the ground.

“Shit,” Chibs gasped. “Alright! Alright!” He raised his hands above the counter before rising to his feet. He took a breath, calibrating himself on his quaking legs, letting his words leak out. “What do you want.”

The man slung his bow over his shoulder and rolled back his hood. He looked to be about as old as Chibs, maybe a bit younger. Chibs couldn’t tell on account of his countenance having been buffeted with advanced age, much like his own. The stranger’s hair was shaved down at the sides and swept into a messy peak awning over his forehead. His stiff, drilled stance, his face, his dress was all grim and familiar. Before anything else, Chibs knew he was looking at a soldier.

“Are you Filip Telford?” the man said.

Chibs stared at the man, slow to give a nod.

“Good.” 

The man swept over and deftly swiped the Beretta from Chibs’ pants. He lifted his knife then did a quick pat down. Satisfied, he nodded upstairs.

The man lead them up to the table where he took a seat at the head. He gestured for Chibs to the adjacent seat to his right. Chibs sat, his eyes never leaving the intruder. He could feel how dry his face and mouth were. His puffy eyes were like fresh glass, betraying windows to the tempest of emotion stirring inside.

“I know you,” Chibs said slowly, with a cavalier growl. “I’ve seen you on TV. You’re one of the Avengers.”

A smile flashed in the corner of the man’s mouth.

“Hawk guy right?” Chibs said.

Clint thought it was almost funny this man wanted to test him right now. “Yeah, sure.” He relaxed in the chair. “Call me Clint.”

“Fine. Clint. What. Do you want.” 

“The guns,” Clint stated with deliberate indolence. 

The words that flowed through Chibs’ mouth felt tough, like raw meat. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Clint leaned forward, resting an arm on the table. His voice was soft with intent. “Look, I wouldn’t be playing games right now. Your guys are dead. Your guns are gone. You have no power anymore. The only reason you’re still alive is because you know who’s funneling those guns into the Bay Area. So if you want to get out of this alive, maybe lose the attitude.” Clint set back in his chair, ostensibly smug.

Chibs sniffed and shook his head absently. “All you’ve done today, fella, is—uh—murder some motorbike enthusiasts. Probably made some enemies with whoever these alleged guns belong to—”

The knife stuck the table right through Chibs’ hand. He screamed and howled. The pain was as immense as the attack was quick. His screams turned to primal growls. He was tired of this man. He was tired of this day. He was scared of the swift brutality. There was no evidence of any second thought. Nothing scared him more than a man with nothing to lose.

Clint leaned back in, putting weight on the blade, staring Chibs in his blubbering face. “I know the Sons have been controlling the gun trade in the Bay Area for years. I know you helped set up the funneling of guns through the Mexicans. I’ve spent too much time working to draw you guys out. I’m done wasting time with small fish protecting the big ones I want.” He twisted the blade, getting a satisfactory howl from Chibs. “You can leave here if you cooperate, but I really have no problem killing you, man. So who is it? Who’s the source of the guns? The Irish? The Russians? Hamas?”

Chibs took his time to breathe through the pain, get back a hold on his trembling body. Harassment from an Avenger was just another day at the office. Another night will come closing the book on another day. Tomorrow will be damage control. All that was in the way was another bad meeting.

Chibs finally got the composure for a proper response. “Fuck you.” He punctuated his sentiment spitting on Clint.

Clint rose to his feet and stood over Chibs. Chibs stared up at his assailant with a look promising he’d get free and return the favour. Clint was amused as he set his boot on Chibs’ arm.

“Hey, man, I’ve got all day,” Clint said. “But your clock’s ticking. Y’know, bleeding out, infection, my patience.” He applied some pressure, setting his back foot for the proper leverage. “Where are the guns coming from.”

“You have my answer,” Chibs snarled.

Chibs hollered as Clint and pressed his boot, tipping him off his chair. The flesh of his hand tore and splattered as it was pulled against the knife. His hand was ripped free and Chibs crumpled to the floor. 

“Oh you fuck!” Chibs bellowed as he grabbed his bloody appendage. “You fucking fuck!”

Clint knelt next to him. “Are we done playing games?”

“I’m not telling you shit,” Chibs spat, his mouth foaming with ire and saliva.

Clint caught himself from deflating under Chibs’ defiance. He rose to his feet and locked the chapel door then resumed his seat. “Then we’ll wait.”

Chibs got himself sitting upright against the door. He stared at Clint. He knew what he meant as he felt his hand gush blood.

Clint idly ran his finger over the table, examining the reaper carving. “You’re something else, man.”

Chibs fought against the creeping shudders. “I’m an acquired taste.”

“Your—your club’s gone, man. Your boys are lying dead downstairs. The Snap has gutted your whole organization—I mean…”

“The Snap?” Chibs carefully watched the expression that swept across Clint’s face upon his question.

Clint softly chuckled as he gazed down the table over all the empty chairs. He let himself sink into the room and tried to imagine for a moment what it would have been like to storm in here pre-Snap. He imagined all the probably burly men, all armed, discussing guns, drugs and women; the kinds of dangerous SHIELD tended to overlook in favour of Nazis and stargazing. 

“This is probably one of my first conversations in about a year,” Clint admitted.

“I wouldn’t necessarily call this friendly chit-chat, mate.” Chibs noticed Clint looked smaller in himself. He wasn’t a well-oiled machine of war anymore, but something else. Somewhere else shouldering a lot of weight. There was something about this weight that was familiar to Chibs.

Clint looked at Chibs, his face having softened maybe more than he realized.

“What’s the Snap?” Chibs tentatively demanded.

Clint shook his head, struggling with words. “Above your pay grade, pal.”

“Yeah, well, I think we’re passed the point of this cloak and daggers shit,” Chibs said lightly.

Clint was the one putting up the wall now. 

A cold sweat condensed on Chibs’ forehead and the shudders reverberated up his back and legs. “I feel like the Avengers have bigger problems than arms dealers.”

Clint was silent. He stared at Chibs with such intensity he was worried he’d burn a hole through his face. The corners of Clint’s mouth fluttered a bit. Chibs prayed Clint would be decent enough to shoot him before he’d have to witness this man potentially burst into tears. Chibs watched his captor’s eyes and brow for some cue as to what was to come next. And then Clint burst into laughter. Chibs was even more anxious from the hysteric wheezes that were heaved out of this man’s mouth.  
“Oh, buddy, if only you knew.” Clint’s laugh was raspy and breathless, and then he mimicked someone. “We can bust arms dealers all the live long day, but that up there, that’s the endgame.” That only fueled the laughter more, right in his belly, teetering over in the chair. 

Chibs stared at Clint with deepening concern. He’d seen enough madmen lost on warpaths. “The Avengers don’t know you’re here, do they.”

The laughter in Clint settled. He became quite sober and grim once again as he exhaled the last of his hysteria. “You got a family, Filip?”

It was Chibs’ turn for a chuckle. It came from the same place from which he knew tears would soon arrive. “I did.”

Clint gave him a look.

Chibs nodded through the door. “Downstairs.” He flashed a wry smile. “And the ash in the wind.”

Clint was quick for a moment to dismiss; Telford didn’t have family, he had obligations. But he’d seen too much to believe family ended with blood. “I did too.” He turned his gaze out the windows on the wall opposite his captive. “Ash in the wind, taken by Thanos. But you and your guys are still here.” Clint took a shaky breath and stared at Chibs. “How do you figure that?”

Chibs was profoundly confused and feeling too fatigued for this runaround. “I—I really don’t follow you here. What’s a thanos? Or a Snap?”

“It’s why I’m here,” Clint said.

Despite Clint’s hardening face, Chibs new a fragile man desperate to hold onto something. 

Chibs let his head hang, starting to put it together. “Y’know, I’ve been into some truly awful shit. Been apart of some really awful things.” He’d never craved a smoke more than right now. “In the final years of my predecessor, this club really got itself in the weeds fighting all the wrong fights trying to make some wrong things right. And I was right at my brother’s—my superior’s side, championing them all. All the wrong people died because of it.” He felt the tears swell. He spoke slowly and softly, quivering under the weight of exhaustion. “I didn’t know what had happened—y’know—” He sniffed with a small general gesture at the world, “—until I got in here that morning. My best mate, one of the guys downstairs with an arrow in his chest, he had watched his love turn to dust, is what he said. I’d never seen it happen, not to anyone, but just…the look in his eyes—I knew it wasn’t some creative metaphor.” Chibs rested his head heavily on the wall. “She was a really brave, selfless gal. Carried the whole world on her shoulders.” Chibs chuckled to himself. “And that rack.” He sniffed again and brought a heavy stare upon Clint. He let the tears run. “And somehow I’m still here.”

Clint’s face was quiet. He was still. The blood rush of vengeance within him seemed to have paused. 

“This Snap, Thanos, whatever you call it, what I’m guessing has to do with what’s happened,” Chibs continued, “there was no reason to it. This is no act of God like some want to believe. It was all random who it touched and who it spared. All those of us left can do is just survive.”

“That how you explain the decades before?” Clint said in an earnest, spiteful challenge. “The Sons of Anarchy have been the cause of a lot of shit all up and down the west coast.”

“Who’d have thought the Avengers had been watching us this whole time.”

Clint huffed. “You’re not that special, Fil. SHIELD and Homeland Security share intel.”

“Oh, you mean the secret not-so-secret Nazi organization, is that right?” Chibs mocked.

“Take it up with Captain America,” Clint grumbled, then flew into a fluster. “Hey, look, don’t change the subject! That survival bullshit is bullshit!”

Chibs felt relaxed, ready for a nap. This was just how today was going to go. “Yeah, well, it don’t much matter now do it, cunt.” Chibs feigned shock at the slip of the word. “Oh, my bad, I meant Clint.” He chuckled heartily, pleased with himself.

“Yeah, never heard that one before. Why don’t you just bleed out already.”

“Oh, trying me best here, mate. ‘Course you could just kill me.”

Clint stared vacantly in Chibs’ direction. He couldn’t tell if Clint was staring at him or through him.

Chibs sighed with a knot in his stomach and heavy eyes. He had to start picking his battles at some point, and now was better than never. “The Irish.”

Clint was suddenly very clearly staring at Chibs. “What?”

“That’s where the guns are comin’ from. The Irish. The Real IRA.” Chibs gave him a prodding look. “Happy?”

Clint nodded pensively. He shifted, ready to get to his feet.

“Oh, hang on,” Chibs said.

Clint paused.

“I told you what you want to know, now I need some answers for my boys,” Chibs said nodding towards the sky. He set himself upright, square with Clint. “What happened?”

Clint frowned, daring to let his bottom lip quiver. He shook his head, trying to wrest the words free. “We…we—uh—we lost a real important fight.” He coughed up a chuckle despite his sorrow. “We. They…lost an important fight.”

“I thought you’re an Avenger.”

“I am—I was. But I was on house arrest at the time.”

Chibs and Clint shared a gaze through the same window.

“So…so you were on vacation when this all happened, is that right?” Chibs said.

Clint stretched himself upright, flexing his neck like a peacock. “It was that or me and my family face treason charges.”

“Jesus Christ,” Chibs muttered.

“I figured they had this under control, but…” Clint folded his hands on the table. “Well, we all know what happened.”

That nap wasn’t coming yet, Chibs thought. He grunted and groaned as he got to his feet, cradling his hand, both hands smothered in sticky, dry blood. He heaved himself over to the table and set down in a chair. He braced on the table as he swiveled to face Clint.

Clint stared at Chibs, perturbed and curious.

“You gotta get right with that, son,” Chibs said.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean,” Clint said.

“I’ve watched a lot of people die. A lot. Burned a lot of bridges.” Chibs took a moment to collect himself. “I was very close with the former President of this charter, and—”

“Save it, I’m not interested.”

“Just. Listen.” 

Clint figured he should abide by the dark look on Chibs’ face. The man was dead soon anyway. He nodded.

Chibs took a breath. “I was very close with the former President of this charter, and about six-seven years ago now his wife was murdered. They had known each other since they were kids, and she had become a real force in the club. Mainly as a damn skilled medic. A very skilled surgeon. Patched up a number of our guys.” Chibs’ gaze was distant for a moment. “Even when she didn’t have to…or want to.” He was quick back to Earth. “Anyway, when she was killed, we were on the warpath. His mother put us onto this plot by the Chinese gang that used to operate in the area. So we wiped them out. We turned on some big players we had worked hard to forge relationships with, and that cost us some of our best men. We mowed down any motherfucker who dared stand in our way.” A forlorn smile rose on Chibs’ face. “Turns out his mother had done it. Tara—his wife—was gonna take the kids away from this life. Grandma didn’t like that. The eldest overheard her confessing to his infant brother and told dad.” The shivers had gained a bigger hold and all he wanted was a little nicotine. “You got a smoke by chance?”

Clint shook his head.

Chibs played cool, shrugging it off. 

“Where’s this going?” Clint said.

Chibs blinked hard and swallowed, trying to get some saliva in his dry mouth. “Many died at our hands that year, both at the end of our guns, but also in the blowback we brought upon ourselves. Many were innocent. Anyway, son killed mom then drove his bike into a semi. His future was done. And all I can think of was, as his Vice President, I should have been the voice of reason. Hey, stop, think. Where does this go?” Chibs shook his head. “But we loved Tara so dearly, that when she was taken…” His eyelid twitched. 

“Fil,” Clint said, urging him along.

Chibs was all too aware of the look in the man’s eyes. It reminded him so much of Jax. “This isn’t the way, Clint. This isn’t gonna bring your family back. It won’t undo the ashes. There’s no one here—no one left to pay for any of this. Each person you kill is one step closer to your own demise.” He watched Clint’s face carefully. If not in the next moment, he was dead in this one.

Clint’s face was equivocated. What he allowed his face to show, he thought, was also careful, and measured. But Chibs could see he was getting through: the lines in this soldier’s face were deepening. They were little canyons down to the rivers of troubles below.

“That’s your move?” Clint said, arrogant and self-assured. “That’s your move? You’re gonna go with ‘well, actually, we’re the same’?”

“I’m saying you’re not the first man I’ve stared down with that wild look in the eyes,” Chibs said. “And I’m giving you the chance to reconsider what you’re doing. This is a long road that has no end. There’s no light at the end of this tunnel, my friend.”

“You don’t know shit,” Clint hissed.

Chibs rested easy in his chair. “If I’m wrong, then kill me. Just get it over with right now. See how far that goes toward seeing your family again.”

Clint snatched up the gun. Chibs resented staring down the barrel of his own weapon. But that was another matter. 

Clint’s face boiled with anger and bloody desire. His breaths were little bursts, like he was trying to lift something beyond his own strength.

“Don’t you think the world needs good men right now?” Chibs said. “Smart men. Talented men. Those who are actually able to salvage what’s left? And you’re gonna waste that potential on some biker club in the desert?” Chibs sat forward and snapped  
straight. There was just enough life left in him for one last push. “Where does this end Clint!”

“Enough!” Clint hollered, clicking back the hammer.

“Where, Clint! Tell me! Where does this go!!”

“Stop!”

Both men’s faces were foaming; Clint was red like a swollen wound and Chibs was paling. Tears warped the light in Chibs’ eyes.

“Answer me, soldier!” Chibs drilled.

“Fuck you!”

“You can’t answer me because you know I’m right!”

“Fuck you! I don’t owe you a fucking rationale!”

“’Cause there is none! There is no path!”

“It’s my path! I have to do this!”

“You! Are! Lost!”

The room drowned in a single gunshot. With a fresh hole in the head, Chibs’ body toppled to the floor. 

Clint stared at the empty seat down the sights of the dead man’s pistol. His face was damp with tears and sweat, drenched with feelings he didn’t understand. His mouth worked to form words. “Fuck you.”

Clint dropped the gun on the table and sat. He desperately worked to catch his breath, and wanted his ears to stop ringing. 

Eventually silence found him, but he just wanted to sit. There was a lot of work ahead.

The light of the sinking sun pouring through the window and into his eyes got Clint to his feet. He nudged Chibs’ body to one side with his foot to open the chapel door. He lumbered down the stairs, like it was the wee hours of the morning, like he’d been up all night. He retrieved his arrows from the slayed bikers and his gelatinous legs carried him outside.

It was a cool evening in Charming. Clint stared at the bikes that were as still as their owners now lay. He thought he heard a car somewhere, but it might have been some wind. 

Clint climbed into the truck and fired it up. “Ireland it is, I guess.”


End file.
